


TO HELL AND BACK

by my_inked_asterism



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Dark Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Halloween, more Dany tho, this is aesthetic af I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-13 17:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21186479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_inked_asterism/pseuds/my_inked_asterism
Summary: A part of him, the part owned by fear, doesn’t want to talk about her any longer. The reality of herin the fleshsucks the air from his lungs, making his heart stop. But then eventually curiosity gets the upper hand, and he gives up without struggles.“What was she li–”“Beautiful,” interjects little Lyanna. “...Terriblybeautiful.”“Of course she is.”But then, against his will, Jon finds himself smiling at the memory of his beloved demon. No, in ten years he guesses nothing has changed.His head’s under a heavy crown up in Heaven, and his heart down in Hell with Daenerys Targaryen.・・・Jonerys Halloween Week - Dark Jon/Dany or Enemies to lovers





	TO HELL AND BACK

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!!
> 
> This fic is written for Jonerys Halloween Week as today's theme is "Dark Jonerys / enemies-to-lovers". I hope this fits well!
> 
> Huge thank you to Sabrina and Fer, my two angels (or demons? eheh) for reading and beta-ing my little work, you two are the best and i love you so much. Also you guys go read their fics too, if you haven't already!  
Please leave kudos and comments if you like the story, it'd be very very much appreciated ♡
> 
> HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYBODY ! Enjoy xx

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/146793737@N07/48959417146/in/dateposted-public/)

_ I like, at times, to hear The Ancient’s word, _

_ And have a care to be most civil: _

_ It’s really kind of such a noble Lord _

_ So humanly to gossip with the Devil! _

– Faust, by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

“She’s back, my Lord.”

The little girl had stepped into the room so lightly that he barely noticed her presence, immersed in his thoughts, as he was responsible for anything that lived above the clouds. He wonders why, among all his advisors and trusted men, they had chosen the little Lyanna to give him the information he’d been waiting for for the past ten years. Maybe to soften the content, Jon thinks, as if Lyanna’s harsh expression was one to associate with sweet news.

Yet the feeling growing inside his chest is anything but sweet; it eats him whole and devours his hopes with just one bite, the sense of guilt long forgotten now coming back to the surface after lurking, hidden, for a decade. She hasn’t even mentioned the name and still, Jon can feel it floating in the air like poisonous gas. 

_ Ask me in ten years_, Tyrion had said. 

Ten years have passed, and it still doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like those years have passed at all, to be honest. Staring at himself in the mirror, nothing of his own reflection would give anyone a hint that so much time has gone by since the Great Battle. His eyes, bright and grey, hold the same warm gaze as before – they’ve only became a little bit sadder, more distant, to quote Sam. His hair has barely grown, his body— statuary as always— has gained even more strength and balance after the incessant training he submits it to, and his skin has turned slightly paler, more resistant to the climate changes. 

And his wings are still _ immaculate_. 

Except for a small feather to his left, where a dark red spot stands out in the white— the mark she made sure to leave before he opened Hell’s gates and watched her fall in tears.

Jon sighs, suddenly wondering if demons and angels age alike. 

He finally turns around and meets Lyanna’s eyes. “Have you seen her?” he asks, trying to mask the shadow of fear and curiosity that he has grown so used to in the past years. 

The girl nods. 

A pause. 

A part of him, the part owned by fear, doesn’t want to talk about her any longer. The reality of her _ in the flesh _ sucks the air from his lungs, making his heart stop. But then eventually curiosity gets the upper hand, and he gives up without struggles. 

“What was she li–”

“Beautiful,” interjects little Lyanna. “..._Terribly _ beautiful.”

“Of course she is.” 

But then, against his will, Jon finds himself smiling at the memory of his beloved demon. No, in ten years he guesses nothing has changed.

His head’s under a heavy crown up in Heaven, and his heart down in Hell with Daenerys Targaryen. 

* * *

When Daenerys wakes up, she automatically licks her lips after so much time spent in dryness, but a wave of nausea rolls through her stomach as she tastes the salt of his tears still lingering on her mouth. 

After ten years. 

Angels be damned, even their bloody tears are immortal. 

She wakes up to hundreds of pairs of eyes all staring at her, curious, fascinated. Her head is spinning, disoriented and unsettled as she breathes in for the first time in a decade. It feels so strange to see her chest swelling again that she finds herself contemplating it for a good minute, before turning her attention to the crowd of people around her. 

“_Blood of my blood,” _she whispers in a language she had feared she would not remember anymore. 

She turns to her right and sees a group of men, armor and helmets on, standing frozen as they assist, apparently emotionlessly, in her rebirth. She smiles.“_ Dovaogēdys_.” 

The soldiers beat their spears on the floor once in unison as a sign of response. 

Then finally, the gentlest soul, the most loyal of all, walks forward, and Daenerys wonders how even the most angelic person in the world could possibly end up so low beneath the ground. 

“Your Majesty.” Missandei approaches her, her hand carefully sliding to her back to help her sit. Daenerys struggles to keep herself composed; a teary smile pulls up at her face as her trustworthy advisor embraces her once she’s on her feet. 

She looks up at all the men standing there for her, pulling apart slowly to admire them, taking it all in. The product of years of work_. _ Her _ people_.

And they followed her down to Hell. _ He _ had sent them all down here, as rotten pieces of a mosaic he had not planned to be so vast and various.

A burst of rage invades her system. 

“Your Majesty, are you alright?” she hears Missandei ask.

Uncertain on her feet at first, the Dragon Queen takes a step forward and almost stumbles in the process, suddenly aware of the weight on her back, the raven plumage framing her body like a dark aura. White never fit her right, anyway.

With one final effort, Daenerys thrusts her wings open and watches all the people’s eyes grow wide with a smirk. 

Powerful, immortal and _ angry. _

The repressed sense of rebellion she had felt for ten years comes in in a rush to fill her lungs; it pumps her muscles and floods her veins like an engine for her whole body, the newfound source of power that outweighs any other natural need. 

She turns to Missandei with a grin, then again faces her loyal subjects. 

“I’ve never felt better.”

* * *

After days spent pacing restlessly in the palace, barely eating or breathing, Jon finds it almost hilarious that Daenerys decides to attack Heaven _ right _when he’s seconds away from falling asleep. 

The first glint of fire he initially thinks he imagined, distant from him and his sight blurry from exhaustion, but then a few minutes later another reddish contrail crosses the clouds . This time it’s so close Jon even feels the warmth of the flames piercing the air. 

He gave orders to put up the defenses the moment Lyanna informed him of Daenerys’ return, but still, the concrete experience of having her back up here after so long creates a path of shivers on his skin that he’s unable to control. 

Heaven is slowly burning, and all Jon can think about is that she’s _ so _close. 

With an exasperated sigh, he quickly ties his sword around his waist and walks hurriedly out of the palace, following the screams that had just come to ruin the peace of his kingdom. 

Just like he remembers it, the crowd of soldiers on its way looks like a black wave from above, a wild animal with razor-like teeth made up of spears and axes dancing in the air. They once served him too, and now they are being sent to kill him. 

Jon walks down the stairs of glass, the usual echo of the steps now muffled by the thunderous sound of explosions approaching, while dark grey smoke comes to stain the pearly whiteness of the sky and red rivers form among the clouds like veins on porcelain. It’d be almost beautiful to watch, an aesthetic scenario for sure, if it wasn’t one of death. 

A spear crosses the sky like a black splinter in the air, fast, invisible almost to human eyes. Except he’s not human, and with a quick movement Jon shields himself. 

A man, twice his height and thrice his weight, screams indecipherable words at him as he juggles an axe above his head, with dark eyes colored in black sentencing him to die as to announce the upcoming blade. Jon kills the horse and the fighter in one lunge. 

A ball of fire plummets from afar like an angry meteorite born to destroy; right above his head it spits flames of death. Jon blows it away with his wings, and a rivulet of sweat traces down his spine, not from the effort, but from the sudden proximity to the source of heat. 

Then, from behind, a loud thud shakes the air around him; it reverberates through him and the sweat suddenly becomes cold. 

With his heart in his throat and a mix of feelings fighting inside him, he turns around, slowly, as if the rules of time are up to him and he has the ability to delay the events with the mere movement of his body. 

But then eventually, still with his back to his nightmare, he catches a glimpse of black scales reflecting the lights of the flames. With a long, painful sigh, Jon finally turns around for good, his eyes following the path of the enormous tail in the process. He finds himself face to face with the familiar beast, copper eyes glaring at him and three lines of sharp teeth flashing at him. The dragon lets out a contained roar as their eyes meet, and the savage thought that it might _ know _ crosses his mind, so he has to look away. 

Frozen in his place, with the erratic thumping of his heart dulling his mind, Jon dares looking down. 

And there she is. 

Terribly beautiful, as Lyanna had said; he can’t come up with a better description. 

Daenerys is _ breathtaking. _

His sight adjusts fast enough to the flashing lights of the flames that he can take her in and study every detail that has changed in the past years. He expects to spot a difference from the woman he fell in love with so much time ago. To Jon’s astonishment, though, and maybe with a bit of relief he wouldn’t admit to anyone but himself, nothing of her looks changed. 

Except for the wings, of course. It should scare him – the raven shade they turned into. Instead, all Jon can think about is how impossibly more stunning she looks with those. 

Everything about her should scare him, indeed, from the inhuman pallor of her skin, to the uncontrolled shaking of her hands – the only sign of emotion she’s showing, a repressed rage she’s retained like a precious weapon. She glares at him with amethyst eyes, serious, steady and deadly _ lethal _. 

And yet. 

Yet, Daenerys Targaryen is in front of him after ten years and it warms him to the core, a sudden sense of familiarity shielding his heart from any fear and no, Jon is not scared of her.

“Dany…”

“Don’t call me that.” 

His heart shatters, if from her glacial tone or the order itself, he doesn’t know. Maybe both. 

Jon tentatively opens his mouth about to retort, but the reply dies in his throat as Daenerys jumps forward, her demon wings spread wide, and with a single leap she’s on him. 

He reacts instinctively, shielding himself with his own wings, creating a white wall in front of him, but to his horror Daenerys is so much stronger than he remembers— with a stretched hand, she flies a little higher and tries to reach for his neck. Jon immediately frees himself, dodging the blow, and turns around quickly, taking her by the arm to trap her beneath him. His hands haven’t touched the ground yet when Daenerys tilts her head, the only part of her body she can move, to bite on his shoulder, so hard he glimpses a bloodstained spot spreading on his shirt, and causes him to _ scream _, astonished by the tremendous pain she managed to inflict by one single bite.

Near them Drogon suddenly roars; a wave of heat tells Jon that it’s just blown fire somewhere, and then, from the corner of his eye, he spots Ghost’s enormous figure running in to attack the dragon with his fangs. He watches as dragon and wolf, the black and the white beasts, dance together in a mortal fight, mimicking their masters to protect them. 

Taking advantage of his temporary distraction, Daenerys flips them both around, and even despite his protests and attempts to steady her she seems unstoppable, a force of nature. Soon he’s got his back pressed on the floor, his legs paralyzed by her own limbs, his wings at his sides, unable to move, and one of her hands wrapped around his neck, making it almost impossible for him to breath. 

Incapable of looking elsewhere, Jon lifts his eyes to meet hers. 

They’ve turned _ red. _

He’d inhale a long breath, if she would let him. 

Instead, her hand tightens its grip so much he can feel her nails digging dangerously into his flesh, and hovering over him, Daenerys watches him without blinking as she slowly takes his life away so easily. Despite the many times she had risked her own life to keep him alive, despite the reign they had built once together… despite everything. 

She watches him struggle, emotionless, but as she keeps her deadly stare fixed on him, Jon focuses on her fingers on his skin and notices they’re getting colder as she goes on, her face becoming impossibly paler, her eyes wider. 

Clinging to those signals with all his hopes, Jon struggles to swallow first, then, with his heart pounding, his mind dull, and an effort that might cost his life, he finally tries to speak. 

“So you really want to kill me?” 

* * *

_ YES.  
_

_ Yes_, the voice in her head repeats incessantly, making every fiber of her being scream in trepidation. 

Yes, she agrees with a sneer, and her hand adjusts on the angel’s throat, her fingers moving on his rough skin as she had done so many times before, although never to kill. 

Yes… She thinks of those times when she used to caress his neck with those same fingers, to scrape him with those same nails, before leaving a path of wet kisses along the beautiful curve that joins his shoulder to his lobe, until she reached his pulse point. 

Maybe. It’s the final verdict, as her fingertips brush over a vein and unexpectedly feel his heart beating against her skin so fast it almost makes her stop. 

_ He’s just scared _, that same voice says, though now a little more hesitant, because Jon Snow is watching her with grey eyes wide with awe, that stupid man. She’s literally killing him and he wants to use the feelings card? 

Her grip tightens. 

“Only angels can kill angels,” she says quietly, a weak remark to justify her hesitation. 

“You _ are _an angel.” 

“I’m not. You sent me to Hell, remember?” Daenerys roars, her nostrils slightly trembling from rage. She feels her blood boiling in her veins, an animal instinct to both crush him on the ground and feel his body pressed harder against hers growing in her chest. She silently sighs; it’s always been like this with Jon - love and hate coexist so harmonically together it almost seems normal. Like two faces of the same coin.

“You know why I did that,” he says, his voice hurt, eyes pleading, as if that is enough to change the facts. “You were out of control.”

“I was being _ just_,” she hisses. “I wanted to create a new world where evil men would’ve been known only in books. I wanted to be good for my people and to avenge those that had long suffered. I wanted justice.” She hates how her tone grows pleading as she speaks, begging him to understand. 

He holds her gaze without saying anything for a moment, before shaking his head— as much as her hand lets him, at least. “You stopped being rational and the situation got out of your hands, there were no rules anymore... no trials, no plans.”

“And did I get a trial when you drove me away from here?!” she shouts. “Was it your plan? Did you think it through for more than two days?”

“You weren’t accepting any advice, Daenerys!” 

“YOU NEVER GAVE ME ONE.”

Jon’s eyes widen at her tone rising, overpowering his own for good. 

Then, to both their horror, Daenerys bursts into tears.

“You were by my side the whole time, _ saw _ what I was getting through, _ knew _what I had to deal with, as a leader and as a person, but you decided to talk me out of my plans when they were already done!” She’s panting, yelling at him everything she’s been keeping inside for too many years. “I was left alone,” she finally says through the tears.

There’s a moment of blissful oblivion— the sound of the war fades to her ears, the flashing lights of the fire she had generated herself looks distant now, and all her senses merge into Jon, into his solid body underneath hers, into his deep eyes that have now turned wet at her breakdown. She focuses on the hand she has entangled around his neck, now loosened, so weak he could just push her aside and stab her in her heart, if he only wanted to. 

He doesn’t. Jon instead remains still, helpless as he watches her sobbing uncontrollably above him. 

They stay like this for a minute, or an hour maybe, she’s not sure. Daenerys only knows that Heaven is falling because of her and all she cares about is the feeling of Jon’s hand, somehow freed of her restraint, resting gently on her side with a tentative ghost of a touch. 

She doesn’t have the courage to remove it, which surprises him.

After a while, when the sobs have calmed down and her breathing starts growing more regular, Jon finally whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

She nods, this time unable to speak from the lump forming back in her throat.

Nothing he just said has been new to her, and that’s why it hurts the most. He loved her more than himself, and still it wasn’t enough to overcome his sense of duty, nor the fear of blaming her. Among all the voices he had been listening to, he didn’t find the space for hers.

He keeps apologizing to her, his iron eyes now bloodshot from the endless crying, and at every word he lets out, his hands grow more solid on her body, his face coming closer, as if the more he touched her, the truer his promises would be. 

And she melts into him as well, even if her threatening hand never leaves his neck. Her body follows his movements automatically, a habit she had thought – hoped, even – she had forgotten. He embraces her, soothes her, and she’s suddenly _ so _aware of him, thankful that he can’t see the goosebumps his touch creates through the covered skin; his shoulders, now at the same level as hers, work as a support to her shaking body, to help her from combusting in his arms for how much she missed the feeling. 

His hands move along her sides, one sliding down her thigh, the other coming to rest over her wet cheek, and Jon brushes it with his palm, trying to dry it, to take all the bad memories of them off with just a caress, as he was so used to doing back then. 

Only when the hand on her cheek stills to cup it firmly, leaning so close that their foreheads almost touch together, and she can feel his heavy breath, nervous and irregular from anticipation – only then, Daenerys wakes up from the dream. 

She squeezes his neck tighter. 

Jon stops. 

Daenerys lifts her eyes, now back to their regular violet shade, and meets his. He looks taken aback by her reaction, dumbstruck in surprise, and she notices his eyes sliding quickly to her opened wings for a second, before locking back on hers, wide and desperate, as if he had just remembered that this is not a memory and she’s not his dreamy angel anymore, but a nightmare of a demon. 

That thought alone is enough to let her speak.

“You sentenced me to die,” she says, her voice cracking. “How can I forgive that?” 

“I never wanted you to _ die _.” His tone is so indignant, so broken, Daenerys almost believes it could be true. 

He takes advantage of her confusion, grabs her waist to hold her in place, and the gesture is so familiar and intimate that warmth pools inside her at once. 

He stares at her deeply, his gaze so intense she thinks he could read her soul. “Only angels can kill angels, you said it yourself. I could have, and I didn’t, ‘cause I didn’t _ want _ to. ‘Cause, Gods above, I loved you! And yes, I _ know _ –“ he cuts her off her, as she tries to retort. “I know I made a mistake, and I know there’s no way you could ever forgive me for that because ten years are… a lot. I handled everything badly, but what I did… I had my reasons. Not the best ones, but I felt… I had felt so _ desperate _ , Dany. So lost, I didn’t know what to do,” he says, pleading, and this time she doesn’t correct the nickname. “I’m _ so _ sorry. I wish I could change it all.” 

Behind them, another shot of fire crosses the pearly sky, and howling follows suit; Daenerys can feel Drogon’s heartbeat in hers, fast and animalistic, telling her it’s getting exhausting for her beast too. 

“_ Please _, come back here with me.” 

It’s so tempting, his tone so desperate, that she has to press her lips hard together not to reply with a loud and way too quick consent. 

But Daenerys instead pauses, considering his offer. A charge of power for having him finally begging her suddenly gives her the motivation, the _ right _, to demand. 

“At one condition.” 

Jon looks up at her. 

“No Hell,” she just orders.

“What?”

“We’ll erase Hell.” 

“We can’t.”

“We’ll find a way.”

Maybe from her firm tone, one that doesn’t accept any further protests, he stops retorting. Instead, his face twists into a quizzical expression, the hidden question visible in his eyes. 

Daenerys clears her throat. “It will be a good world, a better one. There won’t be a place destined for torture or eternal damnation. Those who have committed crimes will be _ judged _, and then executed, if needed. But the prisoners will be kept here in Heaven, so that they can have a chance to redeem themselves, if they choose to. If they won’t, they’re going to perish,” she states, her chin raising to make a point. “They can die in their old world or they can live in my new one.” 

Jon’s face is unreadable, thoughtful, never looking away from her, and Daenerys can almost see the infinite list of pros and cons he’s mentally creating to consider what she’s just proposed. She only hopes her return is included in the right column.

Finally, he sighs. “Alright.”

“Alright?” she repeats, surprised. 

“Aye.” He smiles and her heart skips a beat, but she tries to ignore it. “Your reign won’t see a damned soul ever again.”

_ That _ she can’t ignore. 

Jon’s smile widens at the sight of her astonishment, her lips slightly parting at his unexpected choice of words. 

“_ My _reign?” she asks in disbelief.

“These past years have been hard. Without you…” He looks away, swallowing hard as he struggles to find the right words. “I’m not fit to rule. Not alone, at least. I’m not bad, I guess, but you’ve always had more experience than me. I was told I’m too compassionate, or too honest, even, things I’ve never reckoned are flaws in anyone, ever. You balanced me.” Jon looks back at her, and there’s something in his eyes that takes her breath away all of sudden. “So I don’t want it.” 

The booms around them are barely audible when her heart hammers so fast in her chest. 

“_ Keligon perzys _,” Dany orders with a whisper.

Within a few minutes the fire ceases, all the soldiers dropping their weapons with a loud clang. 

Jon’s eyes dart behind him to scan their surroundings, disoriented by this twist, but her look remains fixated on him, hypnotized by his statement, mesmerized by his heart.

He’s ready to give up his entire empire for her, the same reign they’d once ruled together and that he’s been leading for the past ten years in prosperity, with the risk of going against all his people for his decision. 

Just like centuries ago, when he decided to put his trust in a stranger, Jon wants to do the same again by handing her his world with the only hope that it could end up better than how he left it, because he has trust in her. Even after ten years, spent close as strangers. 

“Jon…” she says quietly. 

She hasn’t said his name in a decade, and when it comes out it brings up to surface all the memories she has so hard tried to forget. With only those three letters, Jon Snow's never been so alive in her heart like he is in that moment. 

He turns around, slightly flushed now, maybe realizing himself what she just thought, and Daenerys has to gather all her concentration not to focus on how _ pretty _he looks now.

“You balance me, too,” she says, smiling for the first time in ages. “I want to rule with _ you _.”

When he smiles back at her, watery and grateful, Dany feels like all the broken pieces inside her have finally come back into place.

When she leans closer, heart pounding so hard in her chest it almost hurts, his lips brush hers so lightly it leaves her breathless, as if the mere touch is enough to set her soul alight. And Dany finally, _ finally _, feels at peace. 

He separates, only by a few inches, but it’s enough to look up at her straight in the eye with a silent question held in those iron pits she had dreamt every day of her eternal sleep. Daenerys gives him a nod, and Jon Snow kisses her, and Gods above, she’s been in Paradise for hours and it hasn’t felt as real as it does in this moment. 

She sighs into his mouth, guiding him to part his lips, angry as she is of tasting him after so damn long, and Jon feels to her just as desperate to have her from the way his hands travel along her body, pressing her closer to him as if he’s scared she could slip away at any minute. 

She’s been craving all of that — her reign, her people, _ him _— for so long, now that she’s getting it, it’s almost too much to handle, too blissful. 

Jon’s hand, the one on her cheek, slowly moves lower, uncertain at first, then more determined when he feels her lips turned upright against his. She has to repress a gasp when it lands on her breast to palm it, gently yet decidedly, knowing exactly how to drive her over the edge despite the years spent without doing it. 

Daenerys thinks of the first time they made love to each other, of the mix of feelings and pleasure that had overwhelmed her in one single night, even if nothing he did had been new to her, and yet it had felt so. 

They could fall into each other over and over again and it’ll always seem like the first time, no matter what. It scares her - how crazy in love she is with him. Sometimes it feels like a trap, a never-ending tunnel she can’t get out of; other times it’s the safest place in the world. 

But as Jon keeps hugging her, his hands charging with inhuman power to increase her pleasure as a sign of devotion, worshipping her, and the sun rises again above the clouds, Dany thinks that even the darkest of tunnels can be worth it, if he’s going to be there to light it up for her.

“I won’t turn back into an angel,” she then decides, once they find themselves lying in the white fog of Heaven. 

Jon nods, tugging a moonbeam curl behind her ear. “I didn’t want you to.”

He smiles, and closes the distance to kiss her softly. 

“I’m your angel, and you’re my demon, from this day until the end of my days.” He kisses her again, more passionate this time, and she melts into his mouth, letting his tongue part her lips slightly. He pulls apart for a moment, their foreheads still touching, as he whispers in a husky voice. 

“And we’re both immortal, so…”

Daenerys grins. “Forever sounds just fine.”


End file.
